


match point

by spookykingdomstarlight



Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016), Solo: A Star Wars Story (2018), Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Blood, F/F, Imperial Jyn Erso, Kissing, Spies & Secret Agents
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-12
Updated: 2019-08-12
Packaged: 2020-07-28 09:21:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,665
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20061679
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spookykingdomstarlight/pseuds/spookykingdomstarlight
Summary: “Most Imperials don’t talk the way you do,” Qi’ra says, affecting a bored demeanor. And why shouldn’t she? They all of them have better things to do. Under different circumstances, each of them never would have had to meet. That would be a pity, though Qi’ra may not agree. “What are you really after?”So she doesn’t suspect.Jyn ducks her head, bites her lip to keep from smiling too coyly.Got her, she thinks. “A few hours of your time.” Her gaze lifts. “And maybe a bit more privacy.”





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**Author's Note:**

  * For [rosecake](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rosecake/gifts).

“I avoid kidnapping Imperials whenever possible,” Qi’ra of Crimson Dawn says, her voice as clipped as the click of her heels against the marble floor. She sounds exactly as cultured as Jyn knows she isn’t and Jyn can’t quite hide the smirk that tugs her mouth into an unpleasant, upward twist at the sound of it. It’s true that Qi’ra isn’t at fault. By all accounts, she’s a decent sort for a criminal. Obeys the rules the Imperials set for her and behaves cordially according to every required formality. “It’s always a mess.”

Qi’ra’s correct on that score. Jyn’s counting on it.

Jyn spits on the marble floor, a gob of blood splattering the black-specked white of its surface. Qi’ra’s nose wrinkles as she looks away, scoffing lightly. It’s not lightly enough that Jyn can’t hear it though. “If you have a glass or something,” Jyn says, her own accent purely, pristinely Core and friendly to a fault, “I’d just as soon spit into that.”

Her own accent is not an affectation.

Qi’ra snaps her fingers and a guard materializes out of the background. Even Jyn’s surprised he’s there. Big guy shouldn’t melt that easily into the rich drapes that cover massive floor-to-ceiling windows. Stupid place to put her. If anyone sees through those giant windows, Qi’ra will be in a lot of trouble. It’s not every day the daughter of a bona fide Imperial hero finds herself in the clutches of a criminal.

The fact that Jyn’s especially arranged it as such is neither here nor there. The important point as she sees it is this: Qi’ra is here and Jyn’s bleeding and Qi’ra is, after only a few minutes’ delay, offering her a glass and one hand free from the bindings her original captor wrapped around her wrists. They are nice bonds, soft and supple. In another situation, they might be fun. In this one, they’re just amusing. She tries to imagine what her father would think, what Director Krennic would think. Her mother wouldn’t think anything at all, she’s hesitant to admit, as that’s still something of a sore spot. Her father would be frightened, she decides, apprehensive and flighty if he were to find out. Krennic, outraged.

Her father will not find out. Krennic? Krennic might. He has contacts within the ISB who may spill a detail or two. But he’ll twist in the wind on the specifics, undignified in his petulant fury.

She knows how much he wants access to her sources, but she’s got a bigger job to do than follow his ambitions. _Sorry, old man_, she thinks, wry.

Not every part of the Empire can be primed by nepotism. Some might call Jyn ungrateful for that, but she prefers to think of herself as ideologically pure.

Besides, half the fun for the director is the chase. He’ll appreciate it a lot more if he’s forced to make his own move on the stranglehold Qi’ra’s got on this sector.

“I do apologize for the inconvenience,” Qi’ra says as the man—her bodyguard or whoever—disappears. Not into the drapes again, thank the stars: he leaves the room entirely. As Jyn does a quick scan to ensure there’s no one else around, Qi’ra steps closer. “This is all rather unseemly.”

“I don’t mind,” Jyn replies. Blood fills her mouth again. She’d cut her cheek with that hit to the face she took and it just won’t stop bleeding. Indelicately, she lowers her lips to the rim of the glass and spits again. At least the ache in her jaw has faded. “‘Unseemly’ is where I’m most comfortable.”

Qi’ra’s mouth twitches at her words, but Jyn can tell she’s still worried, something about the wideness of her eyes, the way they rove across Jyn’s body as though cataloging her wounds. In truth, Jyn’s fine. She knows how to lose fights. It hurts a bit, yes, but that’s the price of getting an audience with Qi’ra. An unsuspecting audience anyway. Qi’ra welcomes Imperials into her court anytime they wish to come. Jyn’s betting they’re only getting the sanitized tour, the pitch perfect version of Qi’ra’s operation.

Just by getting punched a few times, she’s seen things Qi’ra won’t want falling into ISB hands.

“That’s what concerns me,” Qi’ra replies, stepping close. Her hand wraps around the now free arm rest. Her nails, trimmed and perfectly lacquered in shining black-gray polish, almost skim Jyn’s wrist. “You look exactly like the sort who’s happiest when she’s in trouble. I knew someone like you once. It hasn’t worked out well for him.”

A chill settles over the conversation at Qi’ra’s words. If Jyn even breathes wrong, the whole thing will shatter. She can’t possibly know Jyn is ISB. Nobody does. And Jyn made a point before coming here to ensure she looked as solidly and boringly like a run-of-the-mill Imperial lieutenant as she possibly could. It’s difficult when your last name is Erso, but that’s what makes her perfect for this particular operation. She is a hellish amalgamation of the public and the private. She’s the daughter of a war hero, a target, practically a celebrity, and she’s one of the most decorated spies in the entire Imperial fleet.

The galaxy pretended they loved it when she joined the Academy.

“You’re fooling yourself, I think,” Qi’ra adds.

Her pulse ratchets up a few beats, but it’s not fear that drives it.

Well, not only fear. There’s definitely something far more intriguing tugging at the pit of her stomach and further down. It’s pleasant and inappropriate and Jyn wouldn’t be the spy she is if she didn’t occasionally indulge her most ridiculous thoughts.

Being at someone’s mercy has its benefits, let her say. Qi’ra is underestimating her.

Qi’ra sets herself apart, but in some way she’s no different than the rest of the people Jyn exploits. Sure, Qi’ra’s dressed herself in the most intimidating clothing in the galaxy—even more so than Jyn’s Imperial uniforms, all furs and leathers and popping colors, blood reds and heavy blues and blacks darker than black. Her stature holds her in good stead, allowing her to appear powerful, tall, above everyone around her in every way that matters. It won’t save her from Jyn.

Not least of all because Jyn sees through the ruse. She sees the fragile glint in her eye and the slightest shake in her voice as she overcompensates for the high, false tones. She is what she’s made herself to be, but she’s something else, too.

She is, Jyn suspects, a traitor of one sort or another, but hopefully not the sort Jyn will have to report.

Jyn stretches as best she can with her legs bound to the legs of her chair. Her back arcs in a way that offers Qi’ra a more exposed view of her. She doesn’t bother making a play for the other strap. They both know Qi’ra will shoot her point blank if she takes advantage of Qi’ra’s earlier overture.

Qi’ra talks a good game, but she’s a soft touch somewhere beneath it all.

Jyn knows this the same way she knows somewhere in her father’s heart, he’s a harder man than any of them ever gave him credit for, that Krennic is insecure and fearful.

“It’s worked out well enough for me, Qi’ra.” It’s more familiar than she likes to be. In truth, no one on the Core worlds are familiar unless they want something. And it must be something like the same out here, too, because Qi’ra’s brow arcs and her mouth opens in a small, incredulous smile that exposes a row of perfect teeth. “I wound up in the company of the prettiest crime lord in the Outer Rim, didn’t I?”

She’s not a flirt, but she is confident and willing to ridicule herself just a little bit. As far as distractions go, it’s not the worst. It’s not the best either, but she’s too tied up for some of her best distractions—the ones that involve blasters and bombs and biting kisses—and not quite tied up enough for a few of the others.

“Most Imperials don’t talk the way you do,” Qi’ra says, affecting a bored demeanor. And why shouldn’t she? They all of them have better things to do. Under different circumstances, each of them never would have had to meet. That would be a pity, though Qi’ra may not agree. “What are you really after?”

So she doesn’t suspect.

Jyn ducks her head, bites her lip to keep from smiling too coyly. _Got her_, she thinks. “A few hours of your time.” Her gaze lifts. “And maybe a bit more privacy.”

Qi’ra’s eyes narrow, but her attention drifts, sharpens, falls to Jyn’s lips and then down her chest, across her lap. There’s not much to show in the gear she’s wearing, but Qi’ra’s got an imagination. Jyn can tell. Qi’ra shakes her head, says, “It’s perfectly private here.”

“But not very comfortable.”

“If you wanted to be comfortable, you wouldn’t have gotten yourself caught on purpose.” Qi’ra’s voice grows cool and sardonic; her features go blank and a professional mask falls into place. “If you want to be comfortable again, you’ll stop wasting the time you’ve been given.”

Jyn tastes Qi’ra’s perfume in the back of her throat, spicy and floral all at once. It’s a tantalizingly familiar scent, like something she’d find among the glitterati of Coruscant, and she hates it immediately. Qi’ra should have more vision than that. There’s no reason for it, no reason at all that she shouldn’t be more original. It’s a shocking source of disappointment from an otherwise perfectly refined woman. Jyn shouldn’t be angry with her and yet she is.

Which is the only explanation for why she throws the glass Qi’ra’s goon brought and instead wraps her hand in the cape Qi’ra’s wearing, pulling her close, within inches of Jyn’s mouth. Kissing distance, she doesn’t think. With a dull, ringing thud, the glass rolls away, no doubt spilling Jyn’s saliva-tinged blood across the floor to join that first, insouciant pool of it. At this point, Qi’ra doesn’t seem to care about that fact, anger of an entirely different sort flaring in her.

_This_, Jyn thinks, _is what I’m here for._ Get Qi’ra off-balance. Distract her. Get away with the goods. Metaphorically anyway.

The goods, in this case, being Qi’ra’s time and her attention, not anything so concrete as wealth or equipment or information about her organization.

She just needs Qi’ra to look the other way for a little while.

One of her molars pulses, a there and gone buzzing that tells Jyn everything she needs to know. It’s old technology, archaic. Barbaric, according to some, who shy away from unpleasant things, but not Jyn, who will happily install implants in her teeth when needs must. She will use every advantage she can get her grimy, bloodied hands on, even if she has to parse messages using ancient patterns, codes no one has cared to learn in fifty generations. It’s foolish not to do what must be done. And this is the easiest way for a message to reach her.

C L E A R

There will be no extraction for her. She knew that going in. But knowing that her team is free, returning to base without her, trusting that she’ll manage to get back on her own, it’s exhilarating. It’s terrifying.

She is free to do whatever the fuck she wants in order to get out of here.

Whatever happens now doesn’t have to go into a report. Her superiors won’t give a single damn about how she escapes, so long as she does, and even that isn’t a necessity. Even in the ISB, even with how much money goes into training people for the job, they don’t care much what happens to their recruits. There are always more applicants and they’re probably more qualified than Jyn Erso.

She might rate a few consoling words from Grand Vizier Mas Amedda, spoken to her father on the Emperor’s behalf if she falls. Jyn is certain that will be a comfort for her father, should he notice her absence at all.

“Would it surprise you to know I wanted to meet you,” Jyn says, thoughtful, casual, sharp-edged. “That it’s as simple as that?”

She must hear something of the truth in Jyn’s words, because something approaching rueful flattery crosses her face. Though she has an ulterior motive, she truly did want to meet this woman who holds so much of the Empire in her thrall, whether because of her business acumen or her beauty or something even they don’t understand about themselves or her or about how the galaxy works. And it’s been worth it. Truly.

“I’d think you’re lying,” Qi’ra replies and to her credit, she sounds mournful of that fact. How many people in her life have simply been glad to see her? Her and not the leader of Crimson Dawn? Her, the woman, and not her, the symbol? “But you’re in luck: I don’t execute liars on sight. This isn’t the Hutt cartel.”

“Just like you don’t kidnap Imperials?” Jyn asks, a gamble, a ridiculous, foolhardy comment for a ridiculous, foolhardy girl. Her mouth used to get her in trouble all the time. It still does apparently.

Qi’ra’s nails scrape the taut stretch of muscles in Jyn’s neck as she grips Jyn about the throat. “What is it you really want, Jyn Erso? I don’t suffer the foolish offspring of Imperial heroes lightly. You will tell me or I will send you back to your father in such a way that he won’t recognize his daughter any longer.” She pauses. “That is not to say I intend to kill you.”

Jyn swallows. There’s knowing Qi’ra knows her and then there’s _knowing_ it, hearing it, seeing the angry evidence of it in the cut of Qi’ra’s gaze. A frisson of fearful excitement courses through her, fast as lightning.

“You’ve done a lot of business with the Empire over the years,” she answers, steady, true. It’s a lie, but maybe Qi’ra won’t realize it until it’s too late. “You’ve never worked with the ISB before.”

“Spies have no business with me,” Qi’ra replies, but Jyn can tell she’s intrigued. At the very least, some of the anger is gone, replaced by the careful clip and snap as realization dawned on her. It wouldn’t be the right one, but suddenly this whole rigmarole makes sense to her. “And I have very little business with them in return. They’re less trustworthy than your average criminal.”

Despite the words, Jyn reads curiosity into Qi’ra’s tone, curiosity and desire, interest, greed. All good things.

Jyn does not breathe a sigh of relief.

Her superiors can’t possibly be angry at her for cultivating another source, not even if she’s a criminal. In fact, she might actually be useful, even though that’s of tertiary importance, if that. And even if nothing comes of it, as long as she gets out of this alive, she doesn’t much care. Even if she’ll never get to see Qi’ra again, she won’t care. Something like that shouldn’t even rate as a consideration.

And yet, now that they’ve met, it truly is one. She wants to see Qi’ra. As terrifying as it might be, now that she’s met the woman, she’s half-entranced, too. The curls, the strange way she isn’t quite as elegant as she pretends to be, it makes Jyn want to know more.

She wants to experience more. With Qi’ra. Whatever Qi’ra will give to her.

She never anticipated this and she probably should have. It’s a bit like drinking too much, being around Qi’ra. You think everything is fine and then it’s bad and then it’s better and better and better.

And then suddenly you’re waking up with your head in a ’fresher missing half of your belongings and nursing the mother of all headaches. Whether you remember the night before is immaterial, because it had to have sucked so much that if you do remember, you’re wishing you didn’t.

Not that she’d know anything about that, especially not from back in her days at the Academy when she was angry and alone and wanted just once not to feel anything, a skill she later learned when she joined the ISB. She tries to find that peace now and fails.

She reaches again for Qi’ra, wraps her hand around the back of Qi’ra’s neck. And Qi’ra’s smart and quick on the uptake. She goes tense beneath Jyn’s touch. But she doesn’t flay Jyn alive though Jyn now knows how soft her skin is, how silky the strands of her hair and who else can say that? She knows that Qi’ra’s eyes narrow and widen when Jyn’s thumb presses against the spot behind Qi’ra’s ear where the bone protrudes a little, skin stretched taut across the back of her skull. She knows that Qi’ra’s pulse jumps when Jyn tightens her fist in Qi’ra’s hair.

Incredible.

She wants to test the borders of Qi’ra’s tolerance and find the best way to work her way inside of Qi’ra.

It’s never felt like this before, these moments, this need. It’s brand new, the way she can’t wait to taste Qi’ra on her tongue, the way she hopes Qi’ra will taste her in turn. Perhaps she should fear this, but instead she’s exhilarated, burning with need. Even the fact that she can’t move beyond his one hand, that she’s at Qi’ra’s mercy, can’t actually change the way she feels, though all she wants to do is touch Qi’ra everywhere, peel the layers from her and—

Qi’ra moans, quiet, almost inaudible and surges forward, biting at Jyn’s mouth. Pain spikes through her jaw as she opens her mouth, brushes her tongue across Qi’ra’s mouth, tasting mint, so much better than the lingering taste of iron in the back of her throat. But she’s not bleeding anymore and she’s not concerned that Qi’ra will find anything worse than the average staleness after half a day without having the chance to perform basic hygiene.

Somewhat irrationally, Jyn wishes she’d thought to bring a mint, too.

Of course, Qi’ra probably didn’t grab one just on the off-chance she’d be kissing someone today. She just seems the type who’d be prepared, pressed and perfect, not a bit of her out of place. She’s ready for every circumstance that comes her way.

Jyn wants to hate her. Instead, she’s impressed.

She hates very much to be impressed. There are better things to be. Like clever and right.

“That isn’t,” Qi’ra says, pulling back, a fresh vulnerability in her gaze that Jyn wouldn’t have expected out of her. She has no idea why she deserves to think she knows anything about Qi’ra, but she can’t help but feel just that. It’s unusual and a little uncomfortable, but she is of a sympathy with Qi’ra that sends a larger ache through her than the lingering pain of getting headbutted and then dragged back to this Force-damned room. “We shouldn’t be doing this.”

Jyn tries to summon a smile, but she can only succeed in summoning a frozen half-grin. The kiss lingers in her memory, her lips bruised and buzzing with her need. Arousal soaks her underwear and she feels certain that Qi’ra will somehow know, be able to smell it on her. And that’s leaving aside the way Jyn’s cheeks warm under Qi’ra’s regard.

Chances are, she knows. And she’ll use it against Jyn in some way, but right now she’s also unable to do anything but follow this urge as far down as it goes.

“Maybe not,” Jyn agrees, shaky.

Qi’ra clears her throat and sweeps her hand across her hair and Jyn can see the way her palm trembles as she presses her hand against her abdomen. She looks a little shaken, too, and Jyn maybe likes that about her. It makes her want to poke a little more, push Qi’ra into doing something both of them may well regret. There’s no fun in life without the possibility, after all. Where there’s no risk, there’s no reward.

If nothing else, Jyn feels certain now that she’ll make it out of here alive so long as Qi’ra doesn’t figure out the goal.

“It might be worth your while to expand your horizons,” Jyn suggests, gentle, cajoling, not at all like her usual self, but she thinks Qi’ra trusts and values guile, knows that a person who’s conspicuously hiding something is a person who can be exploited is a person who is safe to be around. “And mine.”

“I didn’t know ISB officers were so ambitious,” Qi’ra replies, dubious, perhaps searching for a reason to believe Jyn. She wants to, that much is clear from how she hasn’t already shot Jyn with the break-out blaster kept firmly, safely, locked away in the large bracelet around her wrist, a small thing that can only do damage at the most intimate of distances. “I thought you all kept to the shadows and investigated one another for advantages.”

Jyn smirks. “Some of us do that, sure, but I’m not interested in inter-office politics.” _I can help you_, she thinks, hoping somehow Qi’ra will realize the truth of her words. If Qi’ra agrees, Jyn can protect her from missions like these. She can guide them both on a better path, or at least one where Jyn doesn’t have to choose between the Empire and Qi’ra’s criminal enterprise. And Jyn would have a reason to come back. It’s everything she could have wanted and hadn’t realized.

Qi’ra huffs in amusement, her fingers skimming across her lips, tapping thoughtfully at the generous softness of them. “You’re more persistent than the rest and more unconventional. I don’t hate that.”

It’s not a no and that’s the most important thing. It’s the only thing.

She sees the avarice in Qi’ra’s gaze and knows she’s got her.

Now all she’s got to do is keep her.


End file.
